


si vis amari ama (if you want to be loved, love)

by zaritarazi



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: DCCW Rarepair Swap, Domestic, F/F, Fluff, Smoochy smoochy someone's in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-29 19:35:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20087626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaritarazi/pseuds/zaritarazi
Summary: "just honestly anything soft with these two. I love that they're in book club together and I love that Nora took on a curse to keep Mona safe and I love that Mona's wolf comes out when she thinks about Nora being hurt they care *so much* and it's so tender and I want them to make out so badly."love and flowers in mona's fourth floor walkup.





	si vis amari ama (if you want to be loved, love)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pirateygoodness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pirateygoodness/gifts).

To get to Mona’s apartment, Nora needs to figure out how the Metro works. And while there is the ever present and insistent idea that she could just take a cab, or use a courier- The idea of normal, taking the lines on the map and figuring it out like a _normal _person would- Is enough for Nora to brave the humid depths of the underground and ride in the wrong direction for two entire stops. 

Once she figures out direction, it’s a smoother ride, though just standing on the platform, waiting to transfer trains, is enough to start making her hair puff up from the _moisture _of the whole ordeal.

Mona lives much too far across the city, is the real issue, and either she will have to move or Nora will, and frankly, Nora’s really just getting settled, so she’d be more than open to the idea. If Mona brought it up. They could be neighbors and Nora could have a window garden and Mona could come over and pick snow peas. 

Or they could get something bigger than Mona’s little studio, not that it isn’t nice, cute, very warm and cozy in a way that felt like stepping into a minky blanket.

Just that Nora is used to more space. Needs more space, in a long term situation.

Again, if Mona were to propose some kind of long term situation. Nora’s just got solutions, is all.

Mona lives on the fourth floor and there’s no elevator, and Nora isn’t out of shape, per se, but she’s certainly not used to climbing up a veritable tower of stairs, and she hasn’t been able to come over to Mona’s enough to get adjusted.

Which isn’t Mona’s fault, or Nora’s, per se, the amount of time Nora’s had between being a demon and then not a demon and then on the run and then in jail and then actually working for the bureau, which is now completely in flux, has been a surprisingly small window of time.

She’d like to get to know Mona’s apartment a little better, take her up for hot chocolate by the window and watching traffic go by. 

It’s naturally too hot to even think of hot chocolate, and the momentary fantasy of it has sent sweat directly down between Nora’s shoulder blades.

Instinctively, she knows Mona would never fault her for being sweaty, frizzy-haired, slightly beleaguered by the strange ebb and flow of public transportation.

But Nora stops on the landing between floors three and four anyway, smoothing her hair down with her palms.

She’s careful not to stomp up the next flight of stairs, trying to keep her footwork light, casual, perfectly non-intentional and normal and cool.

Mona keeps glitter stickers around the number on her door, 13, _lucky _13, as Nora quickly calls it in her head. Mona’s gotten a few new ones since Nora’s last visit, and she thumbs a glittery cat with purple fur and blue eyes before she deigns to rap her knuckles just beneath it, on the door.

The moments that pass by are endless and looming, quiet except for the mental echo of her knock, Nora wondering if it hadn’t been loud enough, or perhaps too insistent, and if she does it again, Mona will think she’s being too bossy. Maybe Nora’s gotten the date wrong? Maybe just once more.

She taps again, then quickly withdraws her hand, tucking it behind her back from the sheer embarrassment of it.

Not to jump to extremes, but Mona could’ve had a heart attack, and that’s why she isn’t already at the door. Nora could just step through the wall, it’s not terribly hard to do, practically baby magic. And if Mona is currently bed ridden, dying, then Nora really should-

“You’re early!” Mona says, her door swinging in with nothing short of enthusiasm. 

Nora’s stomach drops. “What?”

“No worries,” Mona says, wiping her hands on the apron around her waist. Nora notes the little yellow animal printed across reddish pink fabric, red circles for cheeks and pointy ears. Nora knows this. Mona had told her. Pink- Poke- Something with a p and a k sound, near each other. A plosive word. 

“Nora,” Mona says, like she’s repeating it, which she might be. “Do you want to come in?” 

“I can wait out here,” Nora says. “Or downstairs. If I’m early.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Mona says. “Come in! Make yourself comfy. Take off your shoes, please!” She turns on her heel to get back to the stove and leaves the door open, invite unsealed. 

It feels like Mona ends every conversation with the smiley face emoji, somehow said out loud. Maybe it’s her smile, the one she’s almost always got, bright eyes and a curve to her lips. It’s enough happy for the both of them, which is good. Nora likes the piece of it she gets just from standing in Mona’s doorway, the joy she absorbs through osmosis. 

Mona’s apartment smells kind of like yeast and very sweet, a little too warm for a summer day and a tiny AC propped up in the far window. Nora’s always terribly fond of the way Mona keeps her little studio organized, the bookshelf that separate the living room and the bedroom lined with mostly dolls and action figures and comic books. 

Nora will one day figure out how to properly sit in a bean bag chair, but the ones by the bookshelf, pink and yellow, respectively, are always daunting, threatening to swallow Nora into the center. She takes off her shoes, eying them warily, only breaking eye contact to neatly put her shoes next to the doormat. The mat says, “Meow,” and Nora pokes at it, still finding it sufficiently squishy.

Not much has really changed. Mona has put some new art up, changed out the holiday string lights for a more summery set of flamingos. As Nora sinks into the pink bean bag, just as she knew she would, she realizes the feeling that she is getting is _young. _That Mona is still barely an adult and Nora is too old and too uncool, and she’d never even gotten to have string lights. 

“You can sit at the counter if you want,” Mona says, offering her hand. She must’ve darted over the second Nora had sit down, come to fish her out of the chair. Again.

“I thought the counter space was for mealtimes,” Nora says. “You haven’t put out food yet. I didn’t want to seem presumptuous.” She takes Mona’s hand, practically flung out of the chair as Mona lifts her up without any real effort. Nora always forgets, not that Mona is a Kaupe, per se, but that _this _Mona is also a Kaupe. This is just apartment Mona, cooking on a Saturday Mona, soft Mona. It feels different.

She likes to forget about it and it’s definitely not a projection at all. If this Mona is also a Kaupe, then that means that this Nora is also the wickedest witch of the whole, whatever, and she’d rather just be. This.

“Don’t be silly,” Mona says, silly being an adjective that has not once before been used to describe Nora, ever. “You can sit at the counter whenever you want! It’s a little closer to me, anyway.”

“What are you making?” Nora asks, briefly taking Mona’s hand back, just to rub her thumb over the back, feel the bones of Mona’s knuckles, before Mona leads her to the tall chairs at the counter space and sits her down. She’s already got the counter unfolded, so Nora feels a bit better, having not caught Mona completely unprepared.

“First,” Mona says, putting down a mug in front of Nora. “Do you want tea or coffee or juice?”

It’s too hot, theoretically. In practice, Nora needs it. “Coffee, please,” Nora says. Mona makes her coffee instant, and if Nora asks, will just dump sugar in it. The result is always slightly watery but it always makes Nora feel so good, knowing Mona made it for her. 

One time, Mona had even put chocolate syrup in it. It had been pretty wild, and Nora’s seen some crazy things.

“Of course,” Mona says, bouncing on her toes and giving Nora a quick kiss on the lips. 

Nora smiles at the feeling of it, her thoughts only screeching to a halt when she says, “Mona, I didn’t bring you anything.” She touches her lips. “I didn’t even kiss you at the door.”

“It’s cool,” Mona says, only finding this a little funny. “I thought you didn’t want to because you were sweaty.”

“Yeah,” Nora says, trailing off a little. “It is hot out.” She waits for Mona to turn to the coffee-maker-microwave thing, clapping her hands over her lap and creating a bouquet. Horrible. Too much Baby’s Breath. Mona would think her patronizing. They fold back into nothingness as Nora claps her hands again. 

Red roses. Cliche. How despicable could Nora be?

She does it again. Rainbow gerbera assortment. That could work. It’s kind of funny looking. Maybe a little too on the nose. Fourth time should do it. 

“Oh my gosh!” Mona says, instant coffee already in front of Nora, living up to the name. “Did you just do that?” 

“It-“ Nora looks at the bouquet, still unfinished, not even a bow around the stem. “It’s almost there. Cover your eyes.”

Mona does so without question, Nora taking a moment to appreciate how pretty she is, how kissable she looks.

“Okay,” Nora says, to herself. “Make something good.”

These roses are lavender. That’s something. With a flick of her hand, some of them turn pink. Okay. This is workable. A ribbon. The ribbon is… blue. No. Yellow. Bad. White? Sure. Looks good.

“Here,” she says, and now she can properly present it, flourishing it towards Mona. She feels kind of like she’s flushing? Is she flushing? Is she getting sweaty again?”

Mona’s expressions are always elastic, this one being especially excited, bright, happier than Nora deserves for just a bunch of plants. “It’s beautiful,” Mona says, voice almost sing-song with delight. “You didn’t have to.”

“I um, wanted to,” Nora says. “I know I haven’t come over in a while but I- I want to visit you more. So-“

Mona kisses her again, and the bouquet between them makes Nora’s nose twitch, but only a little. She thinks more about the sensation of each kiss Mona gives her, pink ink blot spreading out with wings on a white page.

It’s so good. The most true word, the one that describes Mona’s tongue in her mouth, is _good. _

“I don’t have a vase,” Mona says, voice small enough to be embarrassed but light enough to tease. 

Nora grins against her, their lips barely a hair apart. “I’ll make you one.”

Mona responds by putting the flowers on the mostly clear countertop, running her fingers over Nora’s stomach. Her shirt is thin enough that it’s almost skin to skin, intimate enough that Nora wishes she’s ticklish. Mona is, so much that when Nora responds by poking her fingers into Mona’s ribs, Mona responds with giggles, pressing herself closer to Nora’s chest. 

“Are you hungry?” Mona asks, so clearly beside the point.

“Maybe,” Nora says, her fingers still tickling against Mona’s sides, thinking about devouring her, laying her down on her bed and diving between her legs.

Her hand brushes inside Mona’s thigh. “Are you?” Nora asks.

Mona kisses with a nip this time, her teeth against Nora’s lower lip, a tug and a rush of blood that gives that pinprick sensation.

Nora licks against her lower lip, drags her own teeth over before she says, “How much longer did you need to cook?”

It feels like Mona is considering the hand between her legs more than the food, emphasized by her squeezing her thighs and saying, “We could just eat the cookie dough later.”

More than good enough for Nora. “I’ve missed you,” she says, a sigh as she rakes her free hand through Mona’s hair. “I feel like I went too long without seeing you.”

“You worry a lot,” Mona says, shivering as Nora brushes the back of her neck. “Too much. It’s okay. I didn’t forget about you.”

Nora wants to know how Mona knew, who told her, where they live, if she’s that obvious, if it’s pathetic, and why Mona would bother. She does want to know these things. 

“Hey,” Mona says, kissing Nora’s jaw. “I’m always thinking about you.”

“I think about you, too,” Nora says, and this time she goes for the dramatic, tugging Mona’s hair and holding her in place so Nora can kiss the breath out of her.

Mona whimpers against her. Nora listens to that, and not the white noise of her thoughts.


End file.
